The Girl on the Bench
by DukeBrymin
Summary: It was, perhaps, inevitable that they should be together. But then Wednesday came along.
1. Chapter 1, Meetings

**Title: **The Girl on the Bench, Part 1: Meetings

**Author:** DukeBrymin

**Word Count:** 5892 for Part 1  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre: **Angst/Romance

**Song Lyrics:**

_Show me, if you want it,__  
__And you feel it, 'cause I know,__  
__That I am somewhere in your soul.__  
__Give me a reason to love you.__  
__Give me a reason not to go home._  
"Going Home" - MoZella

**Summary:** It was, perhaps, inevitable that they should be together. But then Wednesday came along.

**A/N:** I was rather happy that this challenge (hg_silverlining's Lyrics Challenge) enabled me to slay a plot bunny that's been biting me recently. So, thanks be to the great deities of prompting! And thanks also to my wonderful betas, sassyfrass_kerr and rosiekatriona.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. Rights to these characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties.

All recognizable characters, song lyrics, settings, and ideas not associated with the world of Harry Potter remain the property of their respective owners and all original characters, situations, places and ideas are the sole property of their creators. Original content viewed here may not be used without their permission.

This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**The Girl on the Bench**

**Part 1: Meetings**

It was, perhaps, inevitable that they should be together. After all, they had been a part of each other's lives for a very long time. They had first met when he was headed off to Hogwarts, after having just found out he was a wizard. Later, he had saved her from almost certain death in her first year. As time passed, she had gradually worked her way into his life, until she had become an almost irrevocable part of it. The Yule Ball, his fourth year, was when he started to realize what a pretty girl she was, although he was somewhat infatuated with a different girl at the time. Unfortunately, both girls had already accepted a date with someone else, so he ended up going with neither. But, when she came with him, in his fifth year, to help rescue his godfather from the Department of Mysteries, he began to understand the irreplaceable role she was playing in his life. He began to look at her with different eyes. Or perhaps it was that he chose to open the eyes that he'd always had. Whatever the reason, they had begun to date in his sixth year, and he found that he was happier than he'd ever been before.

The hunt for the Horcruxes was a time best left unmentioned. After Dumbledore's death, he had pulled her aside and told her that, although he loved her, they needed to pretend to the world that they were not a couple. She didn't agree with him, but allowed herself to be persuaded. They staged, not so much a fight as a loud _discussion_, in the Great Hall, carefully crafted to give the illusion that they had decided they weren't working out as a couple. That made the next year rather more horrible than it could have been--not being able to kiss her, or hold her, or even brush her hair, which was something he loved, but that the other guys had always given him a hard time about. He spent the year dreaming about her vivacity, the brightness of her spirit, and, although a constant source of torment, those memories helped sustain him through the long, exhausting, and painful time when they weren't a couple. But, after he defeated Voldemort, they felt free to reunite, and did so with alacrity, and settled into a rather comfortable routine.

oooooooooo

He had a nice flat in London, perhaps three blocks away from that of his girlfriend. Both were somewhat old-fashioned, in that they didn't move in together, or spend the night together, as their other friends did. Her reasons had to do with her parents, and their old-fashioned values. His were a strange combination of fear of commitment, desire to please, and anxiety about the future. But that suited them--they knew they had all the time in the world to move towards a deeper relationship, which, naturally, would include marriage, and a family sometime thereafter.

He was happy in his job as an instructor for the Auror Corps. He had entertained notions of being an Auror for the rest of his life, but after progressing through training at an unheard-of rapidity, and graduating, then spending a year out in the field, he realized that he didn't enjoy it nearly as much as he had hoped. So, when the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement floated the idea of a safe, regular job that let him be home every night, he accepted quickly. He had always enjoyed teaching, witness the DA, and after the first week of his new assignment, decided that he had found his calling in life.

She was happy for him--she had always worried about him being away for such long stretches, and having him safe in his own bed every night provided a peace that she hadn't really known for a long time. Her job kept her busy too, although it was cyclical in nature, as most sports-related jobs are. The Quidditch season was always hectic, but she enjoyed what she did, immensely. So much so, in fact, that he occasionally felt guilty for his half-formed future plans of a family, and children. He just didn't know if he could take her away from the sport that had come to define her life. But he was practiced in self-abnegation; he had, after all, spent his life caring for other people, many times at the expense of his own happiness. This made it rather easy for him to continue in the routine, not to say _rut_, in which he found himself. But then came the Wednesday. . .

oooooooooo

He had made it a habit, for quite some time now, to take his lunch in the park. He found it rather relaxing to be able to just sit and watch people, which was quite the reversal from the norm. Very few wizards, that he could tell, frequented this patch of grass, and trees, and birds, and he found it a welcome break from the normal hurly-burly that came with being such a well-known person. He wasn't upset with his celebrity--he had, after all, been well-known for his entire life, minus the first year-and-a-third, and had finally gotten used to it. But it made a nice change to be able to blend in with the crowd, rather than being the reason _for_ the crowd.

The bench at the far south-west of the park was his favorite. It had the best view of the duck pond, and he found great joy in watching the small children feed the ducks, and run at the ducks, and occasionally run, screaming, _from_ the ducks. He had grown so accustomed to being able to sit there, that, on this particular Wednesday, when he found someone already seated on the aforementioned bench, he was rather taken aback.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," the girl said, before looking over at him with a smile.

He started, realizing that he had been gaping at her for a good few minutes. "I'm sorry," he managed to blurt out. "It's just that. . ." and here he ran out of words. It wasn't like he _owned_ the bench, after all. But how to explain to someone that they're interrupting your routine, without sounding like a pathetic moron who can't deal with the least little bit of change?

"I took your bench, didn't I?" she asked, good humor sparkling in her eyes.

"Yes, but you didn't know."

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I mean, well, it's not that it's _my_ bench, anyway, and you're certainly welcome to sit anywhere you want." The corners of her lips turned up as she tried to repress laughter. Turning a bright red, he made to leave, with a muttered, "I'm sorry, I'll just sit somewhere else, yeah?"

The repressed laughter finally burst forth, and he was pleasantly surprised. This was a girl who really _enjoyed_ laughing. He had known many girls who thought it was inappropriate to really _laugh_, and who resorted to the infuriating giggles that he felt belonged solely in _Witch Weekly_, and not the one for adults--the one for teen-agers. His own girlfriend, for example, almost never giggled. He remembered that she had done it, occasionally, back when they were in school, but had grown out of it as she had grown up, for which he was enormously grateful.

Arrested by her obvious enjoyment of the situation, he just watched her, until she finally calmed down enough to talk again. "Well, you're wrong in at least one particular--although I really don't have any clue whether or not you own the bench. . . Oh, I know! You actually own the park, don't you?" She managed to paste an almost-believable inquisitive look on her beautiful face as she looked up at him.

"No! No, I don't own the bench, or the park, or anything around here!" He was almost frantic to point this out. Many people assumed he was richer than the Queen, and he had spent a great deal of his time trying to refute the point, or at least downplay the facts. Thankfully, his girlfriend--here he felt a small pang of guilt over having thought this girl on the bench was beautiful--had known him for a very long time, and if she had ever been overly-impressed with his wealth, she had gotten over that.

"Okay, then, I guess you're just wrong the once," she responded with a smile.

He thought back to their previous semi-conversation. The only thing he could think to say was, "No, you're welcome to sit anywhere you want, I'm pretty sure about that."

The adorable--_slight guilty twinge again_--girl chuckled again, and shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant either. Where you went wrong was in saying that I didn't know it was your bench." Having said this, she closed her mouth and just looked at him, waiting for his response.

He didn't _have_ a response, other than a kind of shocked immobility. He tried to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat. That was probably a good thing, because he wasn't exactly sure what would have come out of his half-open mouth.

Eventually the silence became overwhelming, and the girl spoke up again. "Perhaps I should explain, as _you_ don't seem to be in any condition to contribute to the conversation. I've been coming to this park for lunch for the past while, and I've seen you sitting here every day. Well, every weekday except for a few of the Fridays. And I decided that I really wanted to talk to you." She shrugged. "This seemed to be the easiest way."

His speaking ability stubbornly persisted in its absence, and the slight grin that the girl had been wearing started to fade.

"I'm sorry--I didn't realize it would upset you this much. I'll just. . . I'll just go then, shall I, and let you eat in peace?"

His heart just about crumbled at seeing the happiness, that she had worn so carelessly, slide down, and eventually off, her face, turning something bright and shining into just another pretty face. In a panic, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Do you like ducks?" And his face turned a brilliant red as he realized how stupid that must have sounded.

Taken aback herself, she still managed to sound more intelligent than he did. "Yes, I do. Is that why you like to sit here? And, in case you're wondering, I usually don't bite."

"Yes. Well, that and the kids." The last part of her sentence hit him at that point. "What?"

"I said that I don't usually bite, so it's probably safe for you to sit down. If you're worried about my intentions, I promise not to ravish you today," she giggled as she said this last, and he felt his heart lift, although a traitorous, and guilt-inducing, voice in his head said, 'But what if I want you to?'

Determinedly ignoring both the voice and the guilt, he cautiously sat down, and took out his lunch. As soon as he took a bite of his sandwich, the girl at the end of the bench spoke up. "So, how long have you been coming to watch the ducks?"

He chewed and swallowed quickly so he could answer. Seemingly satisfied with his quick reply, she turned back to look out over the pond. He took another bite, and immediately heard her say, "Do you work around here?" He nodded quickly, but she continued this line of questioning. "What do you do?"

After swallowing another half-chewed hunk of sandwich, he said, "I'm in security--I train a sort of private police force, surveillance, combat techniques, and things like that."

She just nodded and looked over at a particularly rambunctious pair of ducks, and snickered quietly. He wasn't sure, but felt that maybe she wasn't laughing at the ducks, but at him. His suspicions were confirmed when, upon taking another bite, she asked, "And where do you live?"

He took his time chewing, until she looked over at him to see what was happening. Then, disregarding the partially-chewed mess in his mouth, he answered, "In a house my godfather left for me." His suave, sophisticated accent was rather at odds with the bits of food that sprayed out as he spoke. At this sight, the girl broke out into that laughter that he was becoming infatuated with. The laughter was so contagious that he found himself chuckling along with her, spraying more bits of sodden sandwich.

Eventually she calmed down and apologized for the prank she'd been playing on him. He waved it off as unimportant, but privately decided that if he ever saw her again, he'd have to do something equally embarrassing to her.

It was at this point that he realized what time it was--he'd already unknowingly extended his lunchtime by 15 minutes--and hastily gathered his less-than-completely-eaten lunch. "I'm so sorry, I have to run. I was supposed to be back already."

The girl laughed again, and said, "I know--I've figured out your normal schedule, remember, and was trying to see how late I could make you." Turning serious, she looked him in the eyes and asked, "Will I see you again?"

He found himself lost in her direct, refreshingly frank, gaze. Her eyes were brown, and luminous, and seemed to pull at him, causing him to take an unconscious step towards her. Somewhere in the back of his mind came the vague thought, 'Her eyes are the same color as . . .as . . my girlfriend's!' Coming to himself with a guilty start, he shook his head and retreated. "Um, well, I usually eat lunch here."

She interrupted with another chuckle. "Yes, I think we've established that I'm fully aware of your eating habits. What I really wanted to know was if you'll be back tomorrow."

Rationalizing to himself that he was still allowed to talk to other women, since his girlfriend wasn't a possessive hag, he nodded his head. "Yeah, I'll be here tomorrow. See you then?"

She just smiled and nodded slightly. He grinned back at her, then turned away and took off at a trot, hoping that his recruits hadn't had enough time to prank his desk while he'd been gone.

oooooooooo

As he left, in rather a hurry, she allowed herself to sink back against the bench, and release the tension that had been singing through her stomach. Up close, he was even more handsome, although 'handsome' seemed a rather anemic word to represent his gorgeous green eyes, than she'd thought originally. Thinking back upon the encounter, she decided that she couldn't have hoped to have it turn out any better than it had. At least, for a first meeting. Tomorrow would be another story.

Gathering up her own lunch, she set off down the path to her own job. Thankfully, it wasn't so demanding that she had to utilize all her brainpower on it, and could replay the conversation she'd had with him, to see if there was any indication, or even a small hint, that he might think she was attractive. It was too much to hope that'd he'd show evident interest at the first, but she couldn't deny that she'd had a good time talking to him, and he seemed to have enjoyed the time with her. But there was some sort of hesitancy in his words. 'Oh no,' she thought. 'What if he already has a girlfriend?' She knew he wasn't married--he had no wedding ring, something she'd managed to discover back at the beginning of her infatuation with him--but that didn't rule out a steady girlfriend. Or worse, a fiancée.

Giving herself a good pep talk, along the lines of, 'engaged isn't married, and until marriage, he's at least semi-free', she set about planning what to do the next day.

oooooooooo

Later that evening, feeling even more guilty at the almost-flirting that he had done with the Girl on the Bench, and hoping to assuage his conscience, he went to his girlfriend's flat. They had a standing arrangement to go out together on Friday nights, and spend Saturday afternoons together. Of course, it was rather more miss than hit during the season, but they still worked hard to make sure they made time for each other. She had just gotten back from a long road trip, and he figured that there was a pretty good chance she'd be in, and an even better chance that she'd be happy to see him out-of-the-blue, so to speak. Of course, it was entirely possible that she wouldn't be at home, or too busy to do anything, but he needed to do _something_ to counteract the guilt.

He knocked on the door and waited. He could have apparated directly in, but after having accidentally caught an eyeful of her roommate's less-than-adequately-clothed body, they had agreed that he'd always arrive outside, and knock. Tonight, however, he was rather grateful for the time outside her door. It gave him an opportunity to compose himself, because, in truth, he was more nervous than excited about seeing her. She couldn't tell, just by looking at him, that he'd been chatting up a beautiful girl in the park, could she? Of course not. And once he had a chance to spend some time with her this evening, he'd be able to put his priorities back in line, and forget about the (very enjoyable) lunch that he'd spent with the Girl on the Bench. Knocking again, he forced his mind to focus on seeing his beautiful girlfriend open the door, and the nice time they'd have together. Traitorous mind that he had, though, he started replaying the lunchtime encounter while he waited.

"Hey, you, what brings you over on a Wednesday?" The sweet sound of his girlfriend's voice interrupted a particularly fun recollection of the laughter that he'd listened to over his sandwich and caused him to jump in guilty surprise.

"Oh, hi there! Um, nothing really," he said, while not quite meeting her eyes. He told himself to get a grip, or she'd definitely guess that there was something shady going on. Forcing himself to look at her directly, he continued, "I was just missing my favorite girl, and hoped you'd be up for a movie or something tonight. . ."

Her face fell, and a cold shiver of fear walked up his back.

"Oh, sweetheart! I'm so sorry--I have to go out tonight. The group's getting together to discuss schedules, and told me that I have to be there. Apparently some hot-shot Quidditch professional will be visiting, too, to give us the 'benefit of his experience'. He'll probably be some stuck-up git like the last one." She really did seem genuinely upset at having to miss out on an impromptu date.

"Well, maybe I could come with you?" he asked, grasping at straws to try to salvage his plans.

"I'm sorry, dear. They specified that no outsiders be brought tonight, something secret, I imagine. I can't for the life of me guess why they have to be _that_ security conscious--it's not like there's any new information to be had about scoring goals or catching the Snitch." She thought for a bit. "Maybe I can get out of it--they owe me a favor for saving their bacon . . ." She turned away from the door, leaving it open for him to come in, and crossed to the fireplace. Grabbing some Floo powder, she threw some in and contacted the head office.

He couldn't hear the conversation, although he could tell by the set of her shoulders, and then the sagging of them, that it wasn't going to work out. Sure enough, she backed out of the fireplace and turned to him with a frown.

"I'm sorry, dear, I can't miss this one. But I don't have to be there for another half-hour. . .maybe we could sit on the couch for awhile." The sly look in her eyes let him know that she wasn't planning on just talking platonically with him.

'Maybe this will work out,' he thought. 'I'll cuddle with her, and that will help me remember why I love her, and I can forget about the Girl on the Bench.'

"Okay, if I can't have you for the whole evening, I'll take you for the next half-hour," he responded out loud, and jumped over the back of the couch into his favorite spot.

She chuckled at his enthusiasm, and joined him there, curling up into his arms in their favorite position. He allowed himself to relax, then, and smell the wonderful fragrance that invaded his senses--she had always smelled wonderful to him, although he hadn't really realized it until his sixth year, when he smelled the Amortentia in Potions class, and associated it with her. Small talk gave way to long, leisurely kisses, and he let himself sink into the sensations.

As they snuggled and kissed, he allowed himself to visualize their future. He could see himself coming home from work each evening, walking in through the front gate--which was strange, as he would probably have apparated straight into their home--and being greeted by a set of. . . twins, perhaps. A little boy and a little girl, one with red hair and the other with green eyes, or maybe reversed. Then his beautiful wife would come out on the porch, maybe holding a baby in her arms. She'd smile at him, and ask, "How was work, dear?"

"Fine," he'd answer. "We just got a new group of recruits, and it'll take awhile to get them settled down, but at least they're getting some decent instruction in their Defense Against the Dark Arts classes now before we get them into the Academy."

"That's good," she'd reply. "Did you eat lunch in the park again?"

"Of course," would be his answer. "You know I always do."

A smile would cross her lips, then. "Did any pretty girls try to snag you today?"

"Thousands, my dear, but none of them could hold a candle to you."

By then, he'd be standing right in front of her, with the twins clinging to his legs.

"Good," she'd state. "I'm the only one that is ever allowed to ensnare you on a park bench."

His eyes flew open at that. He'd been daydreaming about the Girl on the Bench! How could that have happened? His thoughts went on in full self-recrimination mode. Even while kissing his girlfriend he couldn't stop thinking about the other girl.

She must have noticed his distraction, and she sat up and turned to face him. "What's wrong?"

He flushed slightly, and tried to think of something to tell her. She knew him well enough that it was almost impossible to lie to her. "Um, nothing, really," he said, but couldn't meet her eyes.

Her eyes narrowed, and he could tell she was starting to get upset. "Don't try to lie to me--something's wrong, and I want to know!"

He looked around the room uneasily, trying to think of a way out. Thankfully, he spied the clock on the mantel, that had her face next to the "You're almost late!" setting.

"Look, dear, I do need to talk to you about something, but I don't want to rush through it, and I don't think you have time right now," he said, motioning to the clock.

"Oh blast, I have to go." She hurriedly got up and patted her skirt and blouse, straightening them out and making sure she was presentable. "But don't think I'm going to forget this! I expect you here tomorrow, as soon as work is over!" Her eyes flashed at him, and he caught his breath, thinking that she really was even more beautiful when she was worked-up about something.

"Of course," he responded. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Love you!" He had to almost shout this as she was already standing in the fireplace, preparing to Floo to her meeting.

"Love you too. . ." he heard, fading off as she disappeared in the flames.

Heaving a deep sigh, he stood up and scrubbed his hands against his face. How was he going to tell her that he was infatuated with a girl he'd talked to in the park? She wasn't the kind to forgive something like this easily. He hoped that he'd only get a couple of hexes and the cold shoulder for a week--he really didn't want to lose her. A though struck him then. If he lost her, he'd lose her family too! He shuddered at this. He'd grown to love her family immensely in the time he'd known her. In fact, he considered her parents the next best thing to having his own. He'd looked forward to becoming a part of their family sometime, and now, because he had been unable to turn away from temptation, he might just lose all of them at the same time.

He sat back down, and forced himself to think, to really examine his feelings for the, now, two girls in his life. First, his girlfriend. Did he love her? He thought back over the time he'd known her, and examined how his feelings had grown and changed over the years. He decided that he really _did_ love her--he wasn't just fooling himself. The next question was whether he wanted to continue growing closer and closer, and eventually marry her. He closed his eyes, trying to envision a life with her. Consciously suppressing the memories of lunchtime, he tried to see his girlfriend as the one holding their baby, welcoming him home to their house. This proved to be rather harder than he'd expected--not like the effortless way that he had daydreamed about the Girl on the Bench. Certainly he could see them together, but his stomach clenched as he realized that he couldn't see them together _in a house, with children,_ but only in a calm, orderly flat that oftentimes echoed with emptiness when she was gone on her trips.

Opening his eyes with a gasp, he sat up straight. "What am I going to do?" he asked out loud.

"I hope you're going to leave soon," came a voice from behind him.

Startled to his feet, he pivoted and drew his wand in one quick motion. "Stupefy!" he yelled as he turned, and a bolt of red light flew a few short feet and hit his girlfriend's roommate squarely in the chest. She bonelessly fell to the floor, and he dropped his wand in shock.

"Oh crud," he silently swore to himself. "She already hates me for catching her in her knickers--now she's going to kill me." After some thought, he decided that he didn't want her to have to wake up naturally from his stunning spell, which had been rather strong, due to his startlement. Being reenverated always lessened the aftereffects of a Stunning, and he could at least do _that_ for her, after doing the stunning in the first place. He also decided that he could definitely do without his girlfriend coming home to find her roommate stunned on the floor. He leaned down and picked her up, then laid her on the couch, straightening out her legs, and making sure she at least _looked_ comfortable. He retrieved his wand and, standing back up, checked the room to make sure he hadn't left anything behind, then walked over to the door. Setting the latch to lock behind him, he stepped out, then closed the door almost all the way. Poking his wand back through the open crack, he whispered, "Reenervate". He pulled his hand back through the crack, and remained peering through it, until he saw her start to move. Pulling the door closed as quietly as he could, he tiptoed away, until he felt he could safely apparate home.

oooooooooo

Her boyfriend had certainly been acting strangely that evening. She mentally ran through a checklist of things that were off about his behavior. First, he showed up on a _Wednesday night_, with some lame excuse about missing her--they had had this discussion already; she needed to be gone often for the League, and he understood that, at least, he had said that he did. Secondly, while he normally enjoyed telling her all about his day, he had been much more close-mouthed than normal with the details. And more tellingly, he had seemed distracted while they cuddled on the couch. She had been happy to see him, albeit surprised, but their kissing and holding and relaxing had been much less relaxing than normal--he had held himself tensely, and then he had started so strongly at the end that she just about fell on the floor.

Yes, there was definitely something fishy going on. At least he was willing to talk about it; not try to gloss it over, or pretend that everything was okay. She had learned by now how to get him to confess his errors, for which she was very grateful. Her roommate had regaled her with many stories about cheating boyfriends, and unfaithful fiancés, and the like, and she felt very blessed to have found her boyfriend so early, and not have had to run the gamut of losers first.

A thought struck her then--what if he had really found someone else? She still had some insecurities when it came to him. She knew very well how desirable he was, how often he was voted Most Eligible Bachelor, even though she never read those magazines. She had hoped and prayed that she'd be able to live up to his expectations. Had she, somehow, failed him? Had he gotten too lonely while she was on the road this last time? Her mind started imagining up countless scenarios where he told her he didn't really love her, that he was more interested in exotic Asian beauties, like that accursed girl from school. Or perhaps he liked girls with clear, porcelain skin and blond hair, like that Norwegian actress, what was her name?

She was well on her way into a grand funk when she arrived at the conference room where they were meeting that evening. Shaking her head, and forcing herself to shelve the concerns in the back of her mind, she entered and took a seat at the corner of the table, the better to keep an eye on those around her. The rest of her team came in, in little groups with what she assumed were fascinating conversations, which ordinarily she'd have enjoyed being a part of, but on which she couldn't focus that evening.

But then, she found her breath taken away. 'This must be the Quidditch god, I mean, professional!' He was gorgeous! And she felt her heart sink within her. 'How can I be attracted to him? I love my boyfriend!' But no matter how hard she tried to calm her racing heart, any time she even glanced in his direction, she found her throat going dry and her mind inventing reasons to talk to him afterward. 'Well, I guess it's good that we're going to be talking tomorrow evening--maybe I can get this guy out of my mind.'

After her meeting, she hurriedly packed up her notes and made to leave, but was stopped by a rather muscular arm blocking her exit.

"Hi there," was all he said, but it was enough to make her knees go weak. He introduced himself, and she fancied that she was too intent on hurrying out of there to pay attention, but her subconscious listened to, and cataloged everything he said. And, to her horror, she found herself agreeing to see him again sometime--". . .but only to discuss Quidditch!" her once-rational brain managed to insert at the end.

He chuckled at that, and said, "But of course. I would love to be able to talk more with such a beautiful woman. But we must keep things. . . professional." But his words were belied by the spark in his eyes as he said that last word.

Cursing herself for her weakness, she Flooed home, hoping that her boyfriend had already left the apartment. Arriving there, she found that he had, but her roommate, standing there fuming and with sparks spitting from her wand, gave her enough grief to make up for it.

Finally she went to bed, dreading the upcoming conversation with the man who, ever since she had first met him, had had such a strong hold on her heart, and hoping that, whatever they decided, they'd both be able to be happy with the resolution.

oooooooooo

The night had been a restless one. He hadn't gotten to sleep until around 3:00, and then his dreams were filled with thoughts of his possible futures, which alternated between children and the Girl on the Bench in a riotous, messy, and passionately love-filled home, and a happy, albeit quiet married life with his current girlfriend. Waking the next morning feeling as if he'd been for a three-hour trip on the Knight Bus, he halfheartedly shaved and showered, then walked for seven and a half blocks, until he felt awake enough to apparate to work without the fear of splinching himself. Arriving at the Auror Academy, he shuffled into his office, ignored his In-box, sat down in his chair, and promptly fell asleep. He was awoken 13 minutes later by the department secretary rushing into the room and shouting that he was already 7 minutes late for his first class, and the natives were getting restless.

His trainees that morning were rather more rambunctious than usual, picking up on their instructor's distracted state. The noise level was much greater than normal, and he had to hex three--well, four, if the mild tickling jinx were counted--of the students just to get the rest to listen to him. After a couple of less-than-educational hours, where they talked about concealment charms and the proper use of a Muggle wig, the students were, to a man ("and woman!" his brain filled in fuzzily), flabbergasted when he let them off for lunch 45 minutes early.

Knowing that he needed some time to think, he walked to his park bench and sat down. The dreams he'd had had only served to disquiet him more and serve as notice that he really had come to a cross-roads in his life. Staring blankly out at the duck pond, he put himself to pondering again. Last night he had thought very hard about whether or not he loved his girlfriend. By the light of the noon-day sun, he decided that he hadn't been wrong in his appraisal--he _did_ love her, deeply. He loved her enough to be happy about the idea of marrying her. But then he thought about the Girl on the Bench. When he did so, his heart felt lighter somehow, and, although he didn't know it, his lips curved up in a faint smile. Picturing himself with her, he could see that their relationship would be completely different. She had such a different personality than his girlfriend, and he found himself intrigued with the possibility of exploring what a relationship with her would be like.


	2. Chapter 2, Decisions

**Title: **The Girl on the Bench, Part 2: Decisions

**Author:** DukeBrymin

**Word Count:** 8,399  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre: **Angst/Romance  
**Song Lyrics:**

_Show me, if you want it,__  
__And you feel it, 'cause I know,__  
__That I am somewhere in your soul.__  
__Give me a reason to love you.__  
__Give me a reason not to go home._  
"Going Home" - MoZella

**Summary:** It was, perhaps, inevitable that they should be together. But then Wednesday came along.

**A/N:** I was rather happy that this challenge (hg_silverlining's Lyrics Challenge) enabled me to slay a plot bunny that's been biting me recently. So, thanks be to the great deities of prompting! And thanks also to my wonderful betas, sassyfrass_kerr and rosiekatriona.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. Rights to these characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties.

All recognizable characters, song lyrics, settings, and ideas not associated with the world of Harry Potter remain the property of their respective owners and all original characters, situations, places and ideas are the sole property of their creators. Original content viewed here may not be used without their permission.

This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**The Girl on the Bench**

**Part 2: Decisions**

"How can you see the ducks with your eyes closed?"

She had come. She hadn't been a dream, and it appeared that she really was as interested in him as she had seemed to be yesterday.

"Hi there," he responded. "I was just thinking, and--"

"And you fell asleep?" She grinned, and sat down on what had become, in a surprisingly short amount of time, her end of the bench.

"No, just trying to focus on my dilemma. How are you?" he asked, in an effort to distract her from his inadvertent mention of the problem he was facing.

"I'm great, thanks--mostly because you're here again." She colored slightly as she said this, but refused to look away from him. "What dilemma are you dealing with?"

He groaned slightly. "You heard that, did you?" She nodded, and he continued. "Well, at the risk of scaring you away, I'm thinking about you. . . and my girlfriend." He looked away quickly as he spoke, hoping that she wouldn't get up and leave.

The concept of a pregnant pause had never seemed so clear to him as at this time, when he sat on tenterhooks, waiting to see what she would do.

"I'm flattered," she finally said, "but I don't swing that way."

He turned to face her so fast that he almost pulled a neck muscle, and saw her grinning at him, unrepentantly, with her eyes showing her usual good humor.

"That's. . . that's not what I meant! Oh Mer-- uh . . . merciful heavens! I'm sorry--I didn't mean to imply--"

She cut him off. "I know--I'm just teasing. I mean, I really _do_ prefer guys; I wasn't kidding about that, but I know you didn't mean that."

"Oh, um, good!" He couldn't believe how red his face had gotten by then.

"So, you have a girlfriend, yeah?" she said, calmly taking out her sandwich and unwrapping it.

"Yeah, we've been together for about four years now." He reached down to open his lunch, and realized that in the foggy-headedness of the morning, he had completely forgotten to make himself anything to eat. And then he'd forgotten to get something at the cafeteria. "Darn it all," he muttered under his breath.

The girl smirked at him, reached into her bag, and pulled out another sandwich. "I made an extra today, would you like it?"

He looked over at her, then at the sandwich. "No, you go ahead, I couldn't take your lunch from you. I'll just get something from the sausage vendor."

She shuddered. "Have you ever eaten anything from that cart? It's horrid--I don't know what they put in their food, but I'm not convinced it's normal meat. No, I'd rather you not get sick while I'm trying to steal you away from your girlfriend." Then she put the sandwich down on the bench next to him and returned to eating her own, just as if she hadn't calmly announced her intentions.

He blinked at her, torn between laughing at her description of the vendor's wares, gratitude for the offer of the sandwich, and apprehension (tinged with a slight bit of excitement) at the blatantly nefarious statement of her designs.

Half a minute later, when he still hadn't figured out what to say, he heard her laugh again. That was enough to jolt him out of his stupor, and, deciding that he'd deal with the easy issue first, he said, "Are you sure you can spare the sandwich?"

Through her soft laughter, she said, "Yeah, it's not a problem--I always bring too much anyway. Besides, then you'll owe me something, right?"

He wasn't sure how to react to her today--he felt rather off-kilter. She had been fun to talk to yesterday, and their bantering had lightened his heart. But today he seemed to be a half-step behind in the conversation, and didn't know how to catch up.

Taking the sandwich, he unwrapped it and took a bite. Chewing thoughtfully, he decided to address the main issue head-on. "Okay, so, I have a girlfriend--"

"You said that already; my memory's not _that_ bad."

"Right, um. . . Look, I need to talk about some things, and I can't seem to talk straight, and if you could just kind of, maybe, hold your comments until I'm done, it would really help." He was rather embarrassed at the pleading tone in his voice, but couldn't seem to do anything about it.

She turned to look at him directly, and he was, once again, entranced by her bright eyes. She took her finger, made a cross over her heart, and said, "I solemnly swear that I will not say another word until you have finished choking out whatever it is you feel you need to say, and you give me leave," stuck her tongue out at him, and took another bite of her sandwich.

He was lost again--he had never thought he could be so attracted to a tongue. Sure, they had their uses, but seeing hers poke out at him made him think all sorts of things that were inappropriate, to say the least. Shaking his head to get rid of those thoughts, he started talking.

"You see, I've been dating this girl since my sixth year at--um, the boarding school we attended."

True to her word, she didn't interrupt, but her eyes got rather large at hearing that. Marking that down to her being impressed by the length of time they'd been together, he continued. "And I've always thought that we'd get married when the time was right. We're happy together, and content with our relationship. We haven't been in too much of a hurry to move into matrimony, though, because we both have busy schedules, and there's enough time now so that we don't have to feel rushed. But I've been thinking a lot, last night and today, that maybe there's something else out there, you know?" She nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Like, maybe, there's someone _more_ suited to me than she is. Don't get me wrong!" he said hastily. "I love her, no doubt about it. But sometimes, there seems to be something, I don't know, lacking."

He paused then, hoping she would say something to help him. When she just looked at him, and took another bite of her lunch, he decided that she probably didn't want to intrude into his domestic issues.

"I probably sound pathetic--here I have the best relationship I've seen, except, maybe, for that of her parents, and I'm thinking about looking for something better. Am I pathetic?"

He waited to see if she would agree with him, but she just calmly looked back and chewed. "Don't you have an opinion?" he asked, somewhat testily.

She stared back, and then pointed to her mouth.

"What, you're eating and can't answer me?"

She closed her eyes in exasperation, then opened them again. Taking her finger again, she pointed it to her lips, then shook it vigorously. He couldn't figure out what she meant, and she grimaced again. She pointed at her mouth, mimed talking, then shook her head.

"Oh!" He felt like such an idiot. "I'm sorry--you can talk now!"

She sighed, shook her head, and said, "How's your memory working today? Never mind. Now, what was the question? Are you pathetic?" She thought for a bit. "No, I don't think so. I mean, marriage is a rather permanent thing, isn't it? After all, once you marry someone, that's it--you're stuck with them. It just makes sense to me that you'd want to be absolutely sure that you've found the right person."

He interjected, "Well, I suppose so, but then, if we screw it up badly, we could get a divorce, I guess."

She looked puzzled. "What's that?"

"Uh, well, when you stop being married to someone--You've never heard of a divorce?" He just couldn't fathom someone older than the age of five who didn't know exactly what _divorce_ meant.

"Hmm," she mused. "Must be a Muggle thing."

"What did you say?" he asked, incredulously.

Her face drained of all color, and she looked back at him with round eyes. "Um, nothing--just a word I made up. Did you like the sandwich?" She cringed at the incredibly obvious change of subject.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You said Muggle, didn't you?" She didn't deny it, but neither could she bring herself to nod--she just looked at him fearfully, nervously wondering how to go about recovering from the horrid breach of the Statute of Secrecy. She expected him to ask her what that word meant, and she couldn't think fast enough to come up with a definition that would satisfy him. But to her surprise, and everlasting joy, the next words out of his mouth were, "So, you're a witch then?"

Dumbfounded, she just nodded her head.

"You didn't go to Hogwarts then, did you? I think I would have remembered anyone as beautiful as you." His eyes flashed momentarily as he said this, betraying some inner turmoil, she thought, but that was pushed aside as she focused on his words.

"Yes, I'm a witch—I assume that you're a wizard, if you went to Hogwarts." She couldn't believe the relief that flowed through her veins at the realization that she hadn't broken any laws, and that this man, whom she'd been flirting with and desperately trying to get to know, shared the magical world with her.

She'd thought quite a bit about that very issue, when she was trying to work up the nerve to talk to him. She hadn't had a lot of success in her dating life up 'til that point, and had decided that she would just be happy in her job, and not worry about men anymore. That, of course, was when it happened—she had seen this mouthwateringly delicious man, with the gorgeous green eyes and the happy smile, and had fallen head-over-heels for him. As the weeks had passed, she had weighed the pros and cons of getting involved with a Muggle—the necessity of hiding her talents from him, the inevitable revelation, and, most likely, the subsequent break-up. But eventually she had realized that her heart had already spoken—if she didn't at least try to get to know him, she'd spend the rest of her life regretting it.

"Of course—oh, that's a relief. You don't know how hard it's been making sure I didn't mention anything about Aurors or stuff like that." She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. He noticed, thought a bit, then blushed. "Well, of course you know how it is—you've been having to do the same thing, haven't you?"

She relented in her teasing. "Yeah, and I agree, it _is_ hard. And no, I didn't go to Hogwarts. My family left England, before I was born, to get away from Voldemort." Harry was impressed that she said the hated name without any evidence of fear. She continued, "I was born and raised in France, and went to boarding school there—Beauxbatons. You've heard of it, I assume?"

"Of course I have—some of their students came to Hogwarts when I was in my fourth year. Did you hear of the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

"Of course! I wanted so badly to go, but I wasn't picked. Granted, I was too young to compete, but the school brought some observers, and _they_ didn't have to be adults. I still think that the Headmistress was biased by looks." She put on an affected French accent then, much more noticeable than her normal soft inflections. "Non! We must 'ave only ze best students attend ze Tournament! 'ow will ze English zink of us eef we take jus' enyone?" She dropped the caricature and continued. "I think they just wanted to send only the most beautiful ones, to prove that French students are ever-so-much-better than you plebeian English types. Especially since some of the supposedly 'best' were doing much worse than I in their studies." She seemed resigned to this assessment, even though there was still some residual bitterness.

He chuckled at that. "Well, _I_ certainly would have picked you to go, if they were looking for beautiful types. Looking like you do now, how could you _not_ have already been beautiful when you were in school?"

She turned to him and smiled. "Thank you, kind sir, for the compliment. But, before you get too extravagant with them, we need to finish our previous discussion. I think you should decide what you're going to do about your girlfriend before you flirt any more outrageously with me." She said this in a light-hearted tone, but he could tell she was very serious about the topic. "Look," she continued, "I'll be blunt. I am very attracted to you, and having talked with you for the past two days, I think I'd really like to get to know you better. But I'm not one to poach on someone else's territory, and I certainly don't want to put you in the position of cheating on someone you love. So, here's what I'll do. I'm going to keep coming here for lunch, but I'll sit on the other side of the pond. You will go and decide what you're going to do about your dating life—without my, hopefully enjoyable, distraction. I won't make another move towards you without a clear sign from you. Okay?"

This was quite a bit for him to take in. He had just about gotten lost in her words back at the part where she told him how much she wanted to go out with him. But he hung on, and managed to follow the rest of her discourse. His heart gave a momentary pang as she told him how she'd stay away from him until he decided, but he ignored that as he realized that this really was the best course of action. He owed it to himself, and to his girlfriend, to make sure he was making the best decision possible, given the circumstances. And besides, he thought, he'd still get to at least _see _the Bench Girl, albeit from across the duck pond.

He reached out to touch her hand, where it rested next to her lunch. "Thanks for being the mature one--"

"Well, someone needed to be, and it was obvious you weren't going to volunteer."

"Nice," he responded wryly. His hand continued its motion towards hers until finally it reached its goal, and made to land on top of hers. When their skin made contact, he felt a shiver run up his arm, straight to his heart. It would be trite to say that they had an instant connection, or that suddenly the world felt right, but it was definitely something. She must have felt it too, as she jumped, stared down at the pair of hands, and quickly pulled hers back.

Stifling the sudden feeling of loss, as if a warm comforter had been unceremoniously yanked off of a sleeping body, he tried to remember what they had been talking about. "Um, uh. Well, anyway, thanks for saying what you said—I would like to get to know you better too, but it wouldn't be fair to my current girlfriend to not tell her what I'm feeling." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he realized how close he had come to blurting out how much he was attracted to this new girl. Noticing that his traitorous hand was stealthily making its way to where hers were resting again, in her lap, he hurriedly jerked it back into his lap, and decided he needed to leave, if he weren't to lose his composure completely.

"Um, I should go, then. I've got a lot to think about." He stood up, spilling what was left of his sandwich on the ground. "Oh blast, that was such a great sandwich, too!" With a quick and surreptitious _Evanesco_, he cleaned up the remnants. Smiling tightly at the pretty girl, he waved, then turned and walked away, leaving behind a beautiful girl, whose only thoughts were wishes that he would choose whichever path would make him happiest, and hopes that that path would include her.

oooooooooo

His students were starting to get a little worried about their instructor. He was not acting like his normal self. Some of his major characteristics were strict attention to detail, inflexibility in the training schedule, and a desire to push the trainees just as hard as possible. So, when he came in after lunch and announced that they were to pair up and practice all the spells from the syllabus, and to not bother him unless there was blood or a lack of breathing, they were astonished.

The first student to approach him, with the intent to ask him why his spell was going wrong, had to have his buddies come and pick him up off the floor, carry him to the sidelines, and gang up to cast _Finite Incantatem_ with enough power to finally take off the Full-Body Bind. After that, they all gradually migrated as far away from their instructor as possible, and decided, as a group, to work on their silent spell-casting--fearing that even something as innocuous as a loud _Stupefy_ would result in unwelcome attention. Needless to say, when 4:00 came around that afternoon, and thus, the end of their training day, many silent prayers of gratitude were offered, and many techniques from their _Stealth and Secrecy_ classes were practiced as they left.

He was a little surprised to look up and find no-one in the training room. His heart rate jumped drastically as he imagined all sorts of horrid reasons for the student's absence, until he noticed the clock on the wall, which read 4:26. He was shocked that it was already so late--where had the time gone? All he'd wanted was a few minutes of peace and quiet to remember the conversation with the Bench Girl, and try to make some headway in determining what, really, he wanted from his current relationship. Reminiscing was such a pleasant prospect, though, that he really hadn't spent very much time at all on the perplexing question that he faced. But he knew that his girlfriend was expecting him rather soon--she knew his schedule, and she had said that they would talk as soon as work was over.

Frantically gathering up his materials and racing down to the Apparition point, he decided that there really was only one honest course of action. He'd have to tell her everything that had been going on, and ask her what _she_ thought of their possible future. He just hoped she wouldn't let her temper loose--he really didn't want to deal with one of her famous hexes tonight.

oooooooooo

"Hello, dear," he said, as she opened the door to her flat to let him in. He leaned in to kiss her, but at the last second, she turned her head and he ended up kissing her cheek. Chalking it up to his own bad timing, he followed her into the flat.

"Sorry I'm late--I got hung up at work." He figured that he should bring it up himself, and hopefully head off any recriminations.

She blinked at him, then looked at the clock on the mantle. "Oh, I hadn't even realized you were late," she said absently, as if it were of no import.

This was an immediate warning signal to him. She had never, in his memory, not paid attention to the time when she was expecting him to be somewhere. He tried hard not to be late, and she knew it, but she always worried when he didn't arrive on time, or send word that he'd be late. He guessed it stemmed from the year of the Horcrux Hunt, when she couldn't ever be sure he was safe. But now, she hadn't even noticed the time, and even more telling, she wasn't giving him grief about it.

"What's wrong?" he asked, immediately. Something had to be bothering her--she was not acting at all like the girl he'd known for so long.

She looked up quickly at his question and blurted out, "We need to talk."

"Well, of course--that's why I'm here, isn't it? We didn't have time last night to discuss what's been happening, so we agreed to meet tonight. Right?" He felt like he had gotten off on the wrong foot, and couldn't seem to catch his balance. This was certainly not how he had envisioned the evening going.

"Oh, right. I forgot. You know, with the busy day I had." The words sounded right, but she said them while looking at his left ear.

"Come on, sweetheart, you're scaring me. This isn't you. Are you drugged? Did someone hex you?" He was passing into full panic mode now--thinking how best to convince her to go to St. Mungo's to see a Healer--would she manage the Floo all right? or should he forcibly side-along apparate her, even though she'd hexed him silly the last time he'd done that?

"Um, maybe you should sit down," was her feeble rejoinder. "Do you want some butterbeer or something?"

"No, I'm good, but please, tell me what's wrong. I'm worried about you--this isn't like you."

"Now, don't take this the wrong way. . ."

That was rather ominous. His heart, which had calmed slightly when she offered him a drink, such a normal thing, immediately started thumping even harder in his chest. Nothing good, in his experience, _ever_ followed those words. 'Oh no!' he thought. 'She's found out about the Bench Girl!' But he was wrong, although after hearing her next statement, he thought maybe that would have been preferable.

"I've, um, met someone."

Complete silence reigned in her flat. His brain seemed to have frozen--he could feel the icicles forming in his mind, and slowly dropping down to his stomach.

"What did you say?" He had to have misunderstood her. She had been fine yesterday, nothing had been off in her manner, and now, this evening, she had become a different person.

"I met someone. Last night, you remember, we had that Quidditch player come talk to us?" He had never heard her speak this rapidly before. It was as if she were trying to tell the story before she lost her nerve, or perhaps, before he was able to react fully. "Well, I thought he would be some jerk, full of himself and assuming he was Merlin's gift to women. But, we started chatting after the meeting, and he was really sweet. He seemed to be very interested in me, even after I told him that I was dating you. He wasn't all pushy or anything, he just let me know that he appreciated me--he told me I was beautiful!"

"But _I_ tell you you're beautiful!" He really didn't know how to feel about this--most of him wanted to hunt down this annoying creep and teach him a lesson. But once again, that little voice popped up in the back of his head to say, 'You can see Bench Girl again!'

"I know, but, it's nice to, you know, know that someone else thinks so too. I mean, I've liked you for forever, and we've been together for such a long time--you _have_ to tell me I'm pretty and all that. But he, he thinks so too! And he's famous!"

"So, how is it that you didn't know him already?"

"Well, he has been playing in the Continental League, and really, the only time we interact with that League is during the Quidditch World Cup. I think I might have read about him in Quidditch Weekly, but you know I don't care that much about players who don't play in our League."

"So, what are you saying? Are you breaking up with me?" It was curious how much this idea hurt. He felt like a hypocrite, considering that this was more-or-less what he had been planning on telling her, but that didn't stop the heartache.

"No! No, I'm not doing that. But I wanted to talk to you about us. I love you, you know that, right?" She was pleading with him now to understand how she felt.

"Yeah, I know, but what am I supposed to think? I come here and you start gushing about this guy that you saw last night. How would you feel?" He winced at having said this, and cursed himself again for being a git about this. He certainly wasn't any better than she was.

"I'd feel horrible too, please believe me. I can't imagine how you must feel. But I don't want there to be any secrets in our relationship. I'm with you for the long haul, if that's what you want. I mean, even beyond how much I love you, I owe you. You saved my life, and I can never repay that!" She stopped, horrified at what she'd allow to spill forth. "No, that's not--"

He interrupted. "You _owe_ me? I never wanted you to _owe_ me! I did what anyone else would have done!" She snorted, not agreeing, but not interrupting. "Are you only my girlfriend because you think you _owe_ me? How could you? Did you ever really love me, or do you just feel obligated to me?" He was up and pacing now, which was probably for the best--his gesticulations were becoming more and more violent as he worked himself up.

"Yes, I _do_ love you! I said that! Even if you had never saved my life, I would have loved you. I'm sorry I said that--please don't--"

He broke in then, wanting to hurt her like she'd hurt him. "Well, that's just fine, because I've met someone too!"

If he'd, perhaps, lost all reason and slapped her, it still couldn't have carried the impact that those words did. Her face went instantly white as she took in his words. The hurt that he'd wanted to make her feel was abundantly evident in her brown eyes, but then, they changed, and he knew he was in for it. The blood came back into her face with a rush, and she rose from the couch as a shark rises to attack a wounded man.

"How dare you!" she spat venomously. "How dare you act all high-and-mighty, like I've done some horrible thing by noticing another man, when you're guilty of the same thing! I was so worried that you'd hate me forever, and never want to see me again, but you came here tonight to break up with me! I could just--" and she grabbed for her wand.

Not for nothing was he an Auror Instructor, though. He beat her to the draw, and Summoned her wand before she could finish her incantation.

"No! No wands! We tried that once already, remember? We do _not_ want to do that again!" He hoped that she'd understand his concern, and not take it as a personal attack. He watched, fearfully, as her face slowly lost its murderous glare, and her cheeks slowly lost their extreme color.

"Give me back my wand," she demanded, holding one hand out while placing the other on her hip in the classic angry-woman pose.

"No, not until you calm down," he responded.

"I _am_ calm, I promise. I just want my wand back--you still have yours!"

He didn't really believe her, but needed to do something to placate her in at least some small way. Thinking quickly, he took both wands, and threw them into the kitchen. "There, now neither one of us is armed. Is that okay?"

She thought for a bit, then nodded jerkily. "Fine, but you better explain yourself, Mr. Hypocrite!" She sat back down on the end of the sofa, crossed her arms, and stared at him.

He ran his hand through his hair, and, rather than sit too close to the enraged woman, took a seat in the chair across from her. "Okay, I'm sorry. I was really being rather unfair to you, and I didn't mean to be such a git. I know you love me, and I love you too. I just . . . I don't know--I hadn't ever thought how much it would hurt to hear you say that you had found someone else. And I know, I know that it would have hurt you too, and I'm sorry for wanting to. And I don't ever want you to feel like you _have_ to be my girlfriend just because of what I did way back then. I'm tired of people thinking they _owe_ me something, and the thought that our relationship might be built on that was just . . . just devastating."

She sniffled a bit, and smiled slightly at him. "I know that--I know how much you hate that, and I didn't really mean it. I _do_ love you, and it's not because you saved me. You're a wonderful man, handsome and smart and just all-around fantastic."

He colored a bit at her words and waved his hand at her. "Stop that--I'm trying to explain myself, and you will _not_ distract me from that." Receiving a nod from her, he continued. "Yesterday, at lunch, this girl was sitting on my bench--you know, the one by the duck pond?" She smiled, remembering the times they had sat there together on their infrequent lunchtime dates. He continued, telling her all that had transpired during that lunch, and then what had happened earlier that day. "And so, I started thinking about us. What if we get married, and then find out that there are other people with whom we'd have been happier? We'd be stuck, and regret our actions. And that is something I _really_ don't want for us. I want, more than anything, for you to be happy. And if this Quidditch Bloke can make you happier, then I want you to be with him, no matter what I feel."

She had always loved his caring attitude towards her. Even before they had gotten to be friends, he had wanted her to be safe and happy--which had led directly to his saving her life--and she'd had ample examples of that same desire in her life since then, too. It was bloody infuriating, at times, that he was so self-sacrificing--it was one of the reasons that she had been so loath to tell him about the man she'd met the previous night--she knew he'd give up their relationship immediately if he thought it was what she wanted.

"But," he continued, "I really don't want to lose you from my life. Whether or not we stay together, you'll always be in my heart, and I couldn't stand not being able to come over for dinner, or watch a show together, or talk to you."

"I know, I don't want to lose you either, but. . .maybe we owe it to each other to take the opportunity to make sure of each other, yeah? I mean, you can go talk to 'Bench Girl'," she smirked at the name he'd given the other woman, "and I can visit with 'Quidditch Bloke', and we can just, I don't know, test the waters or something."

He got up and sat down next to her. "I _do_ love you, you know?" She nodded. "But I agree, maybe this would be a good thing for us." He tried to smile at her, to let her know he'd be okay, but for some reason he couldn't get his eyes to cooperate--they started watering as he thought about the fact that they really _were_ breaking up. He sniffed, trying to hold back the tears, and she let out a broken sob, and suddenly they were holding each other tightly, grasping as a drowning man to a life ring. Her sobs turned into watery sniffles, and they sat for quite some time, comforting each other, and allowing themselves to gradually become accustomed to the idea of not being a couple anymore.

Eventually they loosened their grip on each other and sat back. Wiping his eyes, he looked into hers, and gave her a small smile. "Well, I guess this is it, then. We're not dating anymore."

She sniffed one last time, and put her hand on his. "Yes, I suppose it is. But please remember that I will always be your friend, no matter what. And whatever else happens, there will always be someone in the world who loves you." She smiled back at him, and he had to consciously resist the desire to lean forward and kiss her as he was so accustomed to doing. Instead, he stood up, and pulled her up too. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close and just held her next to him. She put her head on his shoulder, and they stood there, knowing that they were both starting into a brave new world, but comforted in the knowledge that they would each still be there for the other in whatever circumstances arose.

Finally, he backed up a bit, and pulled his arms back from her. "So, I guess I'll head home now, shall I?"

She nodded, and let go of him. "Be safe, please--I don't want to lose you."

"I will, don't worry. If the most evil Dark Lord in an eternity couldn't kill me, then I think I can make it home safely tonight."

She chuckled a bit, then stepped forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, and let me know how things work out with Bench Girl, okay?"

"All right, but only if you keep me in the loop about your dealings with Quidditch Bloke, okay?"

She smiled and nodded again. "Well, good-bye then."

"Sweet dreams, my dear. And good luck." He opened the door and stepped through. Turning to wave goodbye one last time, he, all of a sudden, threw the door open again and yelled, "No! I can't go!"

Startled, she jumped a bit and looked at him. "What's the matter? Are you having second thoughts?"

"Oh, well, no, not really. But, unless I'm mistaken, my wand is still in your kitchen."

It wasn't really that funny, but they both needed the release, and broke up into gales of laughter. Eventually, faces red and eyes watering once more, albeit for a happier reason, they both walked into the kitchen and found their wands, resting against the far wall, with little scorch marks showing where they had impacted with the linoleum. "Guess I shouldn't have thrown them, eh?"

"No, but that was probably the best move at the time. Now, get on home before I hex you on general principles--you've got a busy day tomorrow."

He gave her another hug, and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him. As it latched, it was as if he were closing the door on his past, and opening a new one, with new possibilities. He knew it wasn't as irrevocable as it sounded, but it still seemed rather symbolic to him, and he was grateful to have such a friend in his life, even if they decided against a romantic relationship.

oooooooooo

His dreams that night were a confusing melange. First was his girlfriend--his _ex_-girlfriend, that is--yelling at him that he was an unfaithful boyfriend, and that she couldn't believe she'd liked him for so long, that he obviously wasn't who she had thought he was, and would he please take the green shoelaces off the lamp? Then Bench Girl made an appearance, dressed in a light summer dress, with sandals on her feet and a wide-brimmed straw hat. In his dream, she sat down on his lap, put her arms around his neck, and confessed to having watched him for his entire life, via a small mirror with the imprint of a French horn on it. Then she kissed him, and slipped a purple ring on his finger and proposed. He woke up at that point, to find himself desperately hugging his pillow. Flushing, and eternally grateful that he wasn't back at Hogwarts, rooming with the other boys of his year, and running the risk of having his best mate catch him snogging a pillow, he donned his glasses and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Sitting at the table, and sipping the cool liquid, he was finally able to calm his racing heart.

"Don't be an idiot," he told himself firmly. "You don't know that she's even going to want to date you more than once. And now you're dreaming about marriage? Isn't that kind of jumping the gun?" But he couldn't deny that a part of him yearned for it to really be that easy. In his daydreams of the girl, he could see himself in that same scene, although he wanted to do the proposing himself, and hopefully with a classier ring than the purple plastic monstrosity his subconscious had dredged up. After quite a while, he realized that being awake certainly didn't seem to keep his mind from replaying images from their brief times together. What was worse, it was supplying new scenarios in which he chatted with her about the weather, then suavely announced that he was free to go out and would she like to go to dinner with him that evening? He envisioned an entire evening where he impressed her with his witty banter, and, upon taking her home, she begged to be able to see him again. Surprising both of them, he knelt down in front of her, and asked her to be his wife. Shaking his head to clear the miasma of daydreams mixed with his previous dreams, he dragged himself back to his bed, resigned to just trying to make it through the night, hopefully with enough sleep to at least be coherent the next morning. His final thought, as he fell asleep again, was a hope that the dreams would be more of the Bench Girl type than the jilted ex-girlfriend type.

oooooooooo

He slept through his alarm the next morning, and barely made it to the training facility before Concealment and Stealth class started. Knowing that he'd never be able to focus, he announced, "Okay, class, today we're going to do a practical." All the recruits cheered at this; it was much better than listening to lectures all morning. "I'll send you into the Environment Room and give you ten minutes to hide yourselves as best you can. Then I'll sneak in, and try to find you. If you manage to capture me, then you get the afternoon off. Each of you that I manage to capture will have to write three rolls of parchment on why they were captured. If it's a draw, then one roll of parchment on why you think you couldn't find me, but you get an extra hour for lunch."

The cheering that arose from this announcement was deafening, and the room cleared out almost instantly. He sat back and set his watch alarm to warn him when the 10-minute period had expired. While waiting, he let his mind drift to the upcoming lunch-time, when he'd have the opportunity to see Bench Girl once again. Lost in reverie, he just about fell out of his chair when his watch started to beep. Cursing his lack of attention, and unutterably grateful that the Dark Lord had been vanquished, along with the Death Eaters, since he certainly wasn't up to noticing the approach of any enemies, he jumped to his feet and marched down to the Environment Room. As he put his hand on the doorknob, however, he was hit with an epiphany. Smirking to himself at the idea, and only feeling slightly guilty at the inadvertent lie he'd told his class, he disillusioned himself, slowly opened the door, and then closed it again. Canceling the disillusionment, he then walked back to his office, where he locked the door, laid down on the floor, after casting a cushioning charm, of course, and took a nap.

oooooooooo

The park had never looked brighter to him, as he walked down the gravel-lined path to the duck pond. He had made a point, this time, to bring a lunch, and had even packed extra, just in case the opportunity came up to offer something to the girl.

Upon arriving at the normal location of the duck pond, he found, not a peaceful, serene scene, but rather a screaming, chaotic mess. Children were running everywhere, frantic mothers trailing in their wakes. Kites were swooping overhead, occasionally taking a dive and, as often as not, scaring the pants off one of the smaller kids, necessitating a hug from whatever harried woman belonged to it. The ducks were in heaven, quacking almost loudly enough to drown out the mothers' yells.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" he muttered under his breath. This had never happened before, that he could recall. Was there some sort of neighborhood rally? Or perhaps a school nearby had all of a sudden decided that all of its children needed to be escorted to the park at once? Or perhaps some company was offering free somethings to the first five thousand screaming maniacs to show up? All of these seemed like plausible explanations, but none of them made him any happier at the imminent destruction of his envisioned reunion with Bench Girl.

Loath to enter the maelstrom, he just stood at the outskirts and watched, occasionally stepping aside as a screaming child made to run past him, and ignoring the accusatory glares of the mothers. Normally, he would have gladly helped corral the children, or at least turn them around, but his mind was caught up in his situation, and he couldn't take time away from it. Realizing that there was no way he'd be able to see her from where he was standing, he started walking around the pond to where she had indicated would be her lunch spot. Arriving in the general vicinity, he was dismayed to see that the children-per-square-foot ratio was even higher over here. "How am I even going to find her? Let alone talk to her?" he said to himself, in what he thought was a rather quiet voice.

"Who are you looking for?" came a voice from behind him--a voice that made his heart jump. He spun around, and there she was--standing a few feet away from him, wearing a light summer dress and a large floppy hat, and, most importantly, a smile.

He couldn't stop the answering smile that sprang, fully-formed, onto his face. Neither could he stop himself from stepping forward and putting his hand on her shoulder. "Hi!" he just about yelled at her. "I don't know how we are going to be able to talk with all this. . . this. . ." He gestured back behind himself, indicating the war zone he had just been contemplating.

"Ruckus?" she offered. "Or maybe, brouhaha? I know, it's a fracas! Which is a word I've always loved."

He couldn't help but be captivated by her easy good humor, and found himself moving even closer to her. She looked up at him, with a smile, and a question in her eyes. Dropping his lunch, which would prove a problem later as his pudding cup broke open and contaminated his ham and cheese sandwich, he reached forward and put his hand on her cheek. Her smile grew even wider at that, and, encouraged by that, he reached up and took off her hat, letting her hair fall down around her shoulders. Stepping closer still, he leaned down, tilted his head to the side, and kissed her.

The fracas seemed to disappear into the background, as his mind and soul were caught up in the kiss, and that same shivery feeling, although magnified greatly, raced to his heart. He was no stranger to kisses--he and his now ex-girlfriend had practiced quite a lot in their years together--but this one was special. Past kisses had always been nice, and sweet, and welcoming, and warm. But this one--this one was sparks and flames. It was passionate, and it was--over. She stepped back from him abruptly and shuddered.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said, although a tremor in her voice indicated that she wasn't _really_ asking that.

He chose to answer the unspoken question. "We talked last night, and found that we were both thinking of exploring beyond the safe bounds of our relationship. Apparently she met someone the same day I met you--some big Quidditch player. So, we decided that we'd take a break from each other, and see what happened."

"So, you're free, then?" She looked serious, as if trying very hard to get the rules set in her mind, and making sure that they were followed exactly. "Free to go out with other girls? Free to," she blushed, "kiss me like that?"

"I wouldn't have done it if I weren't. But, maybe, you think we should get to know each other before kissing again?" Now that they were discussing their possible future, he was a little bit shocked at how forward he had been. Hopefully it didn't put her off--she didn't _seem_ to be offended, but he should probably have taken it a lot slower.

She pondered that for a bit. He could see emotions crossing her face, but didn't know her well enough to be able to decipher them.

"I think," she finally said, "that we need to see if that kiss was a fluke." She reached up, took his face in her hands, and pulled him down for another emphatic kiss. If he thought the previous one was good, this one was electrifying. His whole body resonated with the feel of her lips on his, and he found himself forgetting everything--his name, his scar, his (ex-)girlfriend. She whimpered a bit when he finally pulled away, and he found himself wondering what other wonderful sounds she could make.

Afterward, he decided that it was a lack of oxygen in his brain that made him do what he did next. Taking her hands in his, he looked down into her eyes, noting absently that they seemed somewhat glazed, and said, "Will you marry me?"

Afterward, she decided that it was a lack of oxygen in _her _brain that made her answer, "Yes".

"Really? I mean, um, I didn't really mean to propose to you--it's just that, I don't know, I have been thinking about you ever since I first met you, and I can't stop imagining a life with you, and a house in the country, and children. I mean, I feel something with you, a connection, that makes me think we'd be perfect together. In the few days since we met, I've been happier than I've ever been before, and it must be you, and--" he noticed the shell-shocked look on her face "--I've probably scared you off, haven't I? You don't have to follow through with it--I kind of tricked you into it and you probably will never want to talk to me again and--"

She stopped him by the simple expedient of dragging his head down for another kiss. Several heart-stopping minutes later, she let him back up.

"I know what you meant, and I meant what I said. I've watched you for quite some time now, and I've talked with you, and something inside me feels right when you're near me, and not-right when you're not. If you're willing to marry a girl whom you've only known for a couple of days, then I'm willing to take a chance on a boy that I've been watching for a couple of weeks, although we should probably have a rather long engagement, so we can get to know each other. But, I _do_ foresee one problem that we should address right now."

His smile slipped off his face. "What's that? You're not, like, too young, or infertile--" he blushed at saying this, "--or have a bunch of brothers that would beat me up, right?"

She giggled at this, but he found that he didn't mind. "I'm not too young, that's for sure. I don't have any idea whether I'm fertile or not, although I probably am. And I can handle any familial threats that might come your way. No, the problem is that I don't know what to tell people when they ask what my married name will be."

He was shocked--in all this time, which was only two days in reality, they had never exchanged names. He wasn't one to give out his name easily, since it usually caused fawning and autographs and pictures. And he hadn't thought to ask what hers was--they had just kind of slipped into an easy friendship without going through the mundanities of introductions.

"Well, we should probably take care of that, don't you think? My name is Harry, Harry Potter." He cringed, waiting for the typical squealing and jumping up and down, or worse, the awestruck eyes.

"Ah, I wondered--you look like what I imagined him to be," she said, matter-of-factly. She affected a posh, upper-crust accent and said, "It's very nice to make your acquaintance, Mister Potter."

Happy that she wasn't one of the typical adoring masses, he reached down to pick up the hat that had fallen to the ground somewhere between their first and second kisses. "And may I know the name of my fiancée, if you would be so kind?"

She took the hat from him and settled it squarely on her brilliant, fiery mane of red hair. Looking up at him with beautiful, chocolate-brown eyes full of happiness, she said, "My name is Ginny Weasley."

oooooooooo

A/N:  
1) My beta, rosiekatriona, who is also my beautiful and talented wife, wanted me to tell you all that she refused to read this story until I told her how it would end. Her beginning mark-ups on the rough draft were less than complimentary, to say the least. But now it ranks as one of her favorites of all that I've written.

2) There will be an epilogue, in case you care.

3) Please, please, please review--I'd like to know how I did, and what your feelings were as you read it. Thanks!


	3. Epilogue

**Title: **The Girl on the Bench, Epilogue

**Author:** DukeBrymin

**Word Count:** 6,651  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre: **Angst/Romance  
**Song Lyrics:**

_Show me, if you want it,__  
__And you feel it, 'cause I know,__  
__That I am somewhere in your soul.__  
__Give me a reason to love you.__  
__Give me a reason not to go home._  
"Going Home" - MoZella

**Summary:** It was, perhaps, inevitable that they should be together. But then Wednesday came along.

**A/N:** I was rather happy that this challenge enabled me to slay a plot bunny that's been biting me recently. So, thanks be to the great deities of prompting! And thanks also to my wonderful betas, sassyfrass_kerr and rosiekatriona.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. Rights to these characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties.

All recognizable characters, song lyrics, settings, and ideas not associated with the world of Harry Potter remain the property of their respective owners and all original characters, situations, places and ideas are the sole property of their creators. Original content viewed here may not be used without their permission.

This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**The Girl on the Bench**

**Epilogue**

"Tell me again why we're going to dinner at your ex-girlfriend's flat?" She asked as they walked down the street.

"Because she wants to meet you," he responded. He could tell she was nervous—the sweatiness of her palms increased the closer they got to the right address.

"But, I'm the Other Woman! Why would she even want to talk to me?" The distress was rather evident in her voice, and he knew she was pretty close to turning and bolting. He took a firmer grip on her hand as they crossed the street.

"It'll be okay, I promise," he reassured her. "We're still friends, and we promised that we'd always be a part of each other's lives, even if we never got back together. I don't want to hide from her, and I certainly don't want to lose her friendship. Just—don't worry, it'll be fine."

He stopped, and pulled her into his arms. "Look, I _love_ you, and I always will—you're the one for me, and I can't imagine ever going back to not having you in my life. If she _does_ have a problem with us, then she'll only be cutting herself out of our life. I don't want to have to choose, but if I had to, I'd choose you."

She leaned her head on his shoulder and stood for a minute, just reveling in his embrace. She couldn't believe how greatly her life had changed in just two weeks. She remembered how apprehensive she had been at striking up a conversation with the handsome man in the park, and now, barely 14 days later, she was engaged! She constantly marveled at the fortuitous choice she'd made to move to England, leaving most of her family behind in France. It had been hard, at first, but since her parents had raised her with firm British traditions, English in the home, homage to the Queen, and stories of England itself, she had managed to fit in without too many mishaps. Although, the one incident with the napkins had been rather mortifying.

She took a deep breath, raised her head, and gave him a quick kiss below his ear. "Okay, I think I'm ready—let's go."

He failed to respond to her statement, and she turned to give him a quick glance. He was just standing there, with half-closed eyes, and a slight smile on his face. She smirked—she well knew how her kissing him there affected him, so she moved in closer and kissed him on the lips. "Let's go—we're going to be late!" she whispered, and tugged gently on his hand.

Shaken out of his blissful reverie, he blinked, looked down at her, and smiled. Really, it was almost criminal how much power she had over him. He had thought himself in love before—and really, there had been a wonderful peace to his previous relationship—but this . . . this was something else. Being with the red-haired girl was more exciting, and fulfilling than he had ever hoped for. She filled his mind, and his heart, with more happiness than he could ever remember feeling before. It was as if there were hidden crevices that he hadn't known of until her love had seeped its way into them, sealing them tight, and displacing the emptiness that he hadn't known he possessed.

Turning to the building in front of them, he stepped forward and opened the front door. "It's on the third floor, and we'll probably have to walk up."

She didn't mind, as that gave her a little bit more of an opportunity to compose herself.

"I just hope her roommate isn't home—she's not too fond of me right now."

"Why is that? Did you set fire to her knickers or something?" Immediately after saying this, she blushed fiercely, only just realizing what kind of double entendre that could be taken as.

He looked at her in shock. "Did someone tell you? How did you know?"

She gaped at him. "Really? You set fire to her underwear?"

"No, well, not really." He told her about his disastrous, and very firmly _last_ attempt at apparating directly into the flat, and then had to stand and watch, helplessly, as she laughed herself silly. She had to sit down on the stairs, wipe her eyes, and practice deep breathing techniques in order to continue their upward trek.

"Oh, that is classic! No wonder she hates you!" She had managed to control her chortling, but small chuckles kept breaking out every so often.

"Well . . ." He looked rather sheepish, and ran his hand through his hair.

"There's more?" she asked incredulously. "What else did you do to the poor girl?"

"Um, you see, she spooked me one evening, after my girlfriend had left and I thought I was alone in the flat. I, um, _Stupefied _her."

She had to sit back down again and rest her head in her hands—she was used to her knees going weak when she was with him, but usually it was because of his kisses—or the slow, gentle stroking of his hands along the back of her neck. This laughter, though, was just as good, in its own way. It had a way of releasing all her tensions, and making her much more open to the idea of meeting the woman that had held her love's heart before she had met him.

He was tempted to be grumpy at her evident enjoyment of his tremendous faux pas with the roommate, but he found it very hard to be upset at something that made her so happy. In the past two weeks, he had realized that his day really wasn't complete until he had seen her brilliant smile and heard her soft, loving voice. Watching her mirth, he decided that he would have to try to make her laugh like that every day for the rest of their lives.

oooooooooo

Eventually arriving at the door to the flat, he knocked twice, and stood back and waited, arm protectively around his fiancee. All his self-confidence seemed to drain out of his body, and he was filled with an overpowering need to have the approval of the girl that had been such a part of his life for so long.

Seconds later, the door was flung open, startling them both, and he was hit by a crushing hug, and a faceful of brown hair.

"Harry, I'm so happy to see you! Thanks for coming! I have so much to tell you!" He was abruptly let go, and the whirlwind re-focused itself on his fiancee. "And you must be the Girl on the Bench! How beautiful you are! I can see why Harry wanted to get to know you better."

Any reply Ginny might have been mustering was lost as she, too, was engulfed in a hug to rival any she had ever received, even from her mum, who could have hugged for England.

Eventually letting Ginny go, she stepped back and beamed at them both.

Harry was very pleased to see his ex-girlfriend so happy. He had harbored fears that she would be upset at him, or pining away for him. A small part of him was slightly hurt that she seemed to have been able to get over him so rapidly, but he quickly stifled that unworthy thought--after all, he was happier than he'd ever been before, his ex-girlfriend had the right to find happiness too.

Remembering his manners, he introduced the two girls to each other. "Ginny, I'd like to introduce you to one of my best friends, Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is the Girl on the Bench, Ginny Weasley."

"It's very nice to meet you," Ginny started to say, but the words trailed off at the expression on Hermione's face. At hearing Ginny's last name, she had gone white, her mouth had dropped open, and her eyes had turned into huge circles.

"Did—did you say Weasley?" the brown-haired girl gasped out.

"Um, yeah, that's my name. Why?" Ginny responded.

"Hold on," Hermione turned and yelled towards the kitchen. "Ron! Ronald! Get yourself out here, now!"

It was Ginny's turn to blanch. She wobbled a bit, and Harry quickly put his arm around her and pulled her to his side. "What's the matter," he whispered urgently. "Are you feeling okay?"

Ginny didn't answer, and that worried Harry some, but his attention was drawn to the tall, lanky figure that came out of the kitchen. Harry had never seen the bloke before, he was sure of that, but the red hair looked uncannily like Ginny's. He turned to Hermione, but his question died on his lips as he took in the look of love on her face as she gazed at the other man. Any last lingering worries about how he had left his ex-girlfriend were extinguished as he watched her. It was obvious to him, that this man, whom he assumed was the Quidditch Bloke, made her happier than he, Harry, had ever managed to do. And that realization cleared up any reservations he had had about fully giving his heart to the beautiful girl at his side.

He was forcefully pulled from his introspection by a shout from the Bloke. "Ginny! What are you doing here?"

Ginny's brain had, evidently, kicked in, and her previous dumbfounded look was replaced by dawning comprehension. Ignoring this Ron person, she turned to Hermione. "Quidditch Bloke?" Hermione nodded, then looked a question at Ginny. Ginny smiled and said, "Yeah, he's mine."

Hermione took less than a second to grasp the implications, and started laughing uproariously, one of the honest, full-on belly laughs that Harry had liked so much. Ginny responded in much the same way, and the two girls collapsed together, leaking tears of mirth as they struggled to support each other, recover their breath, and, possibly, explain themselves to their respective men.

Harry looked on in confusion, but decided that he'd eventually get the story from them. Turning to the other man, he put out his hand. "Harry Potter. Your name was Ronald, right?"

The red-headed man shook his hand, and grimaced. "Yeah, that's my name, but I go by Ron. Ron Weasley, that is."

It was Harry's turn to gape. "Weasley? Then—you're—Ginny—"

"Yeah, Ginny's my little sister." He motioned for Harry to follow him back into the kitchen. "Come on back—I'll grab you a butterbeer and give you the standard interrogation for anyone who wants to date the Weasley daughter." He said all this with an easy grin, and Harry found himself inexplicably warming to this man who had obviously stolen Hermione's heart.

oooooooooo

The girls had finally dragged themselves all the way inside the flat, and shut the door.

"So, you're Harry's ex-girlfriend, and your attention was caught by Quidditch Bloke—Ron. Do I have that correct?"

Hermione nodded, with a grin, and continued. "And you're the Girl on the Bench, and your Ron's little sister."

Ginny nodded back, and they just sat for a minute, marveling over the incredible coincidence that had brought them to this point.

"So, how serious are you about my brother?" Ginny asked. "You two look happy, and obviously you've been dating for a week or two. Where's it going?"

"Oh, Ginny, I never thought I'd find someone who made me so happy. Don't get me wrong, Harry is wonderful, and I love him very much." Hastening to cut off the frown that was appearing on the red-headed girl's face, she said, "But I realize now that my love for Harry never was that passionate, romantic, head-over-heels love that I'd always heard about. I thought, 'Well, so maybe it's not like the fairy tales, and love is just a calm, peaceful feeling.' But after going out with Ron for only a week, I knew he was the one for me. Comparing the two, I think that the love I feel for Harry is strong, but strongly familial—you know, like he's my favorite brother, or something."

Ginny smiled at hearing this. She had been a little, well, a lot, worried about meeting the ex-girlfriend, wondering whether, in seeing the two together, Harry would realize how much he had given up. Visions of a knock-down, drag-out catfight between herself and the ex-girlfriend, who had perhaps, realized how much she loved him, had plagued her. But this girl, this woman who had taken care of her Harry while she couldn't, was so much more than what she'd thought. She was kind, bright, witty, and well on her way to becoming one of Ginny's best friends.

"What about you?" Hermione asked. "What's going on with you and Harry? I have to take care of him, you know—after all, I'm older than he is, and _someone_ has to look out for him." She smiled as she said this, and Ginny caught the warmth of her humor, as well as the underlying tone of serious investigation into the new girlfriend's motives.

She thought for a moment. "I love him," she said, simply. "I'd thought I was in love before—I've dated enough, and had my heart broken by boys that decided they wanted more than I was willing to give before marriage. But Harry—Harry is something special. As much as it disgusts me hearing someone wax lyrical about loving my brother—after all, I know what his laundry habits are—what you say about him is how I feel about Harry. I can envision a long and happy future with him, whereas I couldn't before, with anyone else. He makes me feel, I don't know, complete, or something like that." She decided she'd better stop there, before she blurted out their engagement. While she wanted Hermione to know, she also wanted Harry to be there when they revealed it.

Hermione smiled at her, and put a hand on Ginny's. "Then it looks like we've both found our soul-mates, to use a trite phrase."

Ginny unexpectedly teared up at this, sniffed a bit, and smiled back. "Then maybe we'll end up being sisters, yeah?"

"I can't think of anyone whom I'd rather fill that spot—if Harry is going to be with someone, I want it to be someone like you." They looked at each other for a little bit longer. "Shall we head into the kitchen and see what our other halves are doing?"

oooooooooo

Ronald Wealsey, Harry was finding out, was a simple man. This is not to say that he was stupid, or anything like that. It was just that he knew what he liked, made no bones about it, and went after it with the single-mindedness of a true cave-man. He liked Quidditch, although _liked_ was not nearly strong enough to describe the passion that he felt for the game, so he trained hard to become one of the sport's best Keepers. He liked chess, so he played every chance he got, and was well on his way to being internationally ranked, at least, in the Wizarding Chess arena. And he had fallen hard for the bushy-haired girl he had seen at a Quidditch Meeting. Not having had the best of luck with the few girlfriends he had had in the past, who had either wanted him because of his Quidditch-star status, or earlier had just wanted a quick snog with a tall red-head, he'd had to really work to get up enough courage to approach her at the end of the meeting. But approach her he had, and found himself rapidly falling in love with her.

His major failing, Harry found out, was a tendency to not think things through before acting. Knowing Hermione, however, Harry had no doubt that he'd learn to do so, under her tutelage.

". . . so anyway, there we were, at some restaurant that Hermione recommended, and I decided that it was the right time, so I got--"

Hermione and Ginny walked in at that moment, and Hermione quickly interrupted Ron's story. "Well, shall we get the food on? I did promise this would be a dinner, didn't I?" She shot a look at Ron that quite plainly said that he should get up and start putting the china and cutlery around. He jumped to his feet, grabbed his wand, and pretty soon knives and cups and plates were swimming around the room, landing haphazardly on the table.

Ginny smirked—she knew how bad Ron's kitchen charms were, but she had to admit that he was at least getting the utensils on the table, which was a far cry better than he had ever done before. Hermione really was a great influence on him.

"Is there something we can help with?" Harry asked, while hoping the answer was 'no' so he could just stand to the side with his arms around his fiancee breathing in the wonderful scent that was uniquely her.

Hermione looked at him mischievously, as if she could see exactly what was going on in his mind, and said, "Well, there's a loaf of bread that needs slicing, if you wouldn't mind." She pointed to a breadbox on the counter.

Harry glared back at her, knowing exactly what she was doing. Ginny watched the by-play with a small smile. As Harry loosened his grip on her to move away, she grabbed his hands and pulled his arms tighter around her.

"Let me do it, Hermione." She pulled out her wand and gestured to the breadbox. It opened, the loaf of bread flew out, sliced itself perfectly, and then flew to the table, where it fell gently onto a plate that had, unnoticed to all, jumped out of the cupboard and rolled to the right spot on the table. Ginny's household charms, on the other hand, were just about perfect.

Breaking the ensuing silence, Ron said, "Well, that's it then, let's eat!" Hermione and Ginny both chuckled, knowing of Ron's prodigious appetite, and they all sat down.

The conversation over the meal progressed comfortably, which was a great relief to all. It started out with Ginny asking how Harry and Hermione had met.

"Well," Hermione began, "the first time I saw him was on the train before our first year. I was helping Neville--another friend of ours--find his toad--"

"He took a toad as his familiar?" Ron asked incredulously. "That's about the most pathetic thing I've ever heard!"

Ginny chuckled. "Not as pathetic as your crush on the Defense teacher your sixth year." She pasted a pathetically love-struck pout on her face. "Oh, Mademoiselle Arlons, I can't seem to get the hang of the Blasting Hex. Can you please show me after class?"

Ron's face turned bright red. "Well, she was really pretty! And I'm not the only one who liked her--half of the blokes in the school liked her!" He got an evil grin on his face. "At least I didn't have a Harry Potter doll like you did!"

Ginny flushed.

Harry choked on his food. "What? You had a doll? Of me?"

Ginny dropped her head. "I knew this was going to come up." She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to look at Harry. "Yes, Harry, I had a doll that was supposed to look like you. I must say, though, it certainly didn't do justice to how incredibly handsome you are, not to mention how delicious your lips are."

Ron grimaced. "Hey now, I know you're happily dating, but I don't need to listen to this type of soppy stuff." But he quieted down immediately when Hermione placed a calming hand on his arm.

"Hush now, Ronald. Let her tell the story."

Ginny shot Hermione a betrayed look, having hoped that the other girl would be able to help Ginny out of her embarrassment.

"Well, my parents subscribed to the Daily Prophet--"

Harry groaned. "I hope they didn't believe everything they read--I think they delighted in making life hard for me."

Ginny smiled. "Well, some of their more asinine rhetoric certainly made them upset, but they really only got it so they could keep up with what was going on back here in England. Anyway, they read all about when you were one and your parents died defending you, and they decided that they would tell me about 'the brave little boy who stood up to Voldemort'. So, I really grew up hearing all about you. But my father made sure to point out that no-one really knew where you were, or what you were doing, I think in an effort to counteract the more sensational stories that were being invented about you. Anyway, I decided that you were the neatest boy in the world--I didn't have a really good impression of boys most of the time--and pestered my mum to make me a Harry Potter doll. Contrary to popular belief--" and she glared at Ron. "--I didn't have a crush on you. Rather, I had a best friend in you. I had thoughts, occasionally, of what would happen when I finally met you, because, of course, it never entered my mind that I wouldn't ever meet you."

Harry grinned and said, "So, did the actual meeting live up to your expectations?"

Ginny leaned over to him, and said, in a voice husky with love and desire, "When I met you, it blew away any preconceptions I might have had, and was so much more than I could have ever imagined."

Hermione found it necessary to distract Ron for a time as the other couple expressed their love for each other. Eventually, however, Harry and Ginny came up for air, and Ginny continued her story.

"Well, as I grew older, I became slightly more realistic in my thoughts, although I still wanted to meet you. I think, maybe, that was one of the reasons that I decided to move to England. I knew there was no chance of my seeing you in France, so that helped give me the extra push to come over."

"And I'm incredibly glad you did," Harry responded, and pulled her over for a quick one-armed hug.

"So you see, Ronnikins," Ginny shot at her brother, "I may have had a Harry Potter doll, but it wasn't nearly as embarrassing as you were hoping. Not anything like that time I caught you and Maggie Barstow under the Quidditch--"

"No need to go there!" Ron shouted. "I think we should just let bygones be bygones, right?" He shot a quick glance at Hermione, and his face fell. She was glaring at him, with a look that plainly indicated an upcoming conversation about one Maggie Barstow.

Ginny turned back to Harry, with a satisfied grin on her face. "But you were telling us how you and Hermione became friends . . ."

Harry took up the narrative, as Hermione looked too involved in shooting glares at Ron. "So anyway, we met on the train, and when she found out my name she started gushing about how she'd read all about me in all these books. I, of course, didn't like that, and decided right there and then that she was a know-it-all swot."

Hermione looked over at him when she heard this, and smiled. "Yeah, but you were pretty grateful for the know-it-all, weren't you? You wouldn't have gotten nearly as good of grades on your N.E.W.T.s without me, would you?"

Harry smiled back. "Of course not, I was just telling how I felt at the time."

Hermione picked up the thread of the story. "Well, we got to school, and I was sorted into Ravenclaw. Harry was put into Gryffindor, and I figured that we'd really never interact anymore, which was sad because he was already rather cute at eleven."

Harry blushed at this. "Yeah--I didn't even notice you were a girl until our fourth year."

"Well," interjected Ginny, "boys are noticeably slower than girls at picking up on things like that." Both girls giggled a bit, then Hermione continued the story.

"Anyway, one day in Charms class--"

Harry interrupted, "It was Halloween, I remember clearly. I hate Halloween!"

"--we were working on levitation charms. I had gotten the hang of it rather quickly, and that seemed to irritate one of the other Ravenclaws. As we were walking out, past Harry, who was waiting to come in, the Ravenclaw boys started talking about me being a know-it-all and bossy and everything. I'd been called that many times before, but it still hurt. But then one of them said that this was why I didn't have any friends. Well, that was the last straw--it was totally true, of course, but that didn't mean I wanted other people to say it. I couldn't take any more, and ran to one of the bathrooms to cry."

She paused to take a drink, and Harry took over.

"Anyway, we were all sitting in the Great Hall for lunch, and in ran our idiot of a Defense teacher, yelling about a troll in the dungeons. Then he fainted, right in front of us. We were sent back to our dorms, which I thought was a pretty lame idea, but I overheard one of the Ravenclaw girls mention that Hermione had been crying in the bathroom all morning."

"So, being the noble git that he was," Hermione said, "He came to find me. I didn't believe him, of course, but it was proved rather emphatically by the troll breaking in the door and starting to demolish the sinks. All I could do was cling to the wall and cry. Harry didn't even hesitate--he ran and jumped on the troll's back--"

Ginny gasped at hearing this, and tightened her grip on Harry's hand.

"Yeah, I managed to stick my wand in one of its eyes. That gave me the idea to try for the other eye, but the thing was trying its hardest to scrape me off its back by this time, and I couldn't aim properly."

Hermione took her turn now. "So, I levitated some of the rubble, and managed to throw it into the other eye." She shuddered, remembering the horror of the episode. Ron put his arm around her and pulled her close, and she leaned into his side, gathering comfort from the embrace.

"I jumped down, and it started really going crazy, pawing at its eyes, and rampaging around. Eventually, it managed to run head-first into the stone wall, and knocked itself out. Just then the teachers came running in. We got in so much trouble, but I think it was mostly because they were so scared for us."

"Since that time, though, we were inseparable. Any time we had classes together, we sat by each other, and we even started sitting by each other for some of our meals, which caused no end of talk, let me tell you."

Ron and Ginny just stared at the other two. "Did you get into such crazy things often?" Ginny finally asked.

Harry and Hermione just looked at each other and laughed. Then they filled in the other two about all the adventures they had gone through, together with Neville as the third member of the Golden Trio, as they were called.

Eventually talk turned around to their current jobs. Ginny talked about her job in the local apothecary, and Harry talked about training Aurors. Everybody got a good laugh upon hearing about the prank he'd pulled on his students in the _Concealment and Stealth_ class.

Then Hermione explained to Ginny how she had gotten involved with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. "You see, after Ludo Bagman was convicted of embezzlement, they hadn't been able to find someone they trusted to straighten things out. I was just starting as a clerk in the DMLE—Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you know—but my superiors had already begun to rely on me pretty heavily. There was a girl there, Lavender Brown, who didn't like me, so she started to really spread horrid rumors about me; that I was leaving for long lunch breaks, and not filing things correctly, she even said that I wasn't putting the books back in the right location!"

Harry snorted at this, but declined to comment.

After a disgusted look at Harry, Hermione continued. "Anyway, these rumors got to be pretty wild, and eventually Minister Bones heard about me. Well, her niece, Susan, was in my year at Hogwarts, and she told her aunt that they were all lies, and that I was the most conscientious and dedicated researcher that she knew. The Minister called me in for an interview, and she must have liked me, because she transferred me to her department, and assigned me the job of clearing up the happenings in the Quidditch Division. Incidentally, Lavender got assigned to Office Supplies, where she doesn't get to flirt with the Aurors any more." She giggled, remembering that. "Well, one thing led to another, and now I head up the whole Division. Since the Bureaus of Gobstones and Exploding Snap are really just sops to keep some of the older wizards happy, the Quidditch Division really is what sets the tone for everything."

"Yeah, and she's brilliant at it!" Harry interjected. "The only thing that's not to like is all that traveling."

Hermione lightly slapped Harry's arm. "Now, you know that I have to know what's going on. I didn't like having to be gone all the time, but it's necessary to keep the whole League on the right footing."

Harry grinned—they'd had this conversation before, many times, and it always worked out the same. Maybe now, with Ron in her life, she'd be able to travel with him, rather than have to leave him home. Or maybe it would be him traveling with her . . .

The conversation gradually worked its way around to future plans. Hermione, who had been surreptitiously watching the interaction between the other couple all evening, came right out and asked, "So, when are you going to propose to her, Harry?"

If she had thought to embarrass Harry by the blunt question, she succeeded. But it wasn't for the reason she had expected.

Looking at Ginny, he asked her a question with his eyes. She thought, then nodded slightly, and put her left hand below the table, and silently tapped her ring finger with her wand.

Harry looked back at Hermione, and said, "Well, I've always thought that you'd be the first to know of my impending marriage--" Hermione grinned at that, knowing that it would have been because she would have been the fiancee. "But you'll have to be the second." Ginny placed her left hand on the table, with her beautiful emerald and diamond engagement ring prominently displayed. "I proposed last week, and she accepted."

Hermione gasped in surprise, then rushed over to Ginny's chair. "What a beautiful ring! Oh, I'm so happy for you!" She threw her arms around Ginny, narrowly avoiding hitting Harry in the eye, and squeezed her.

Ron, on the other hand, just sat there with a gobsmacked expression. When he was finally able to make his mouth work, he spluttered for a bit, then started yelling. "Ginny! You're too young! What will Mum say? And we don't even know--"

He was interrupted by Hermione. She stood up and turned on him. "How dare you, Ronald Weasley! You are such a hypocrite! She's only a year--" she looked for confirmation from Harry, who nodded, before continuing, "--younger than you! And I know Harry, and have for most of my life." Her voice dropped until it was a steely growl. "Are you questioning my judgment?"

Ron paled and sat back in his chair. "No! No, sweetheart—you're the smartest, the greatest girl in the world—I'm sorry!" He looked at Ginny. "I'm sorry, Gin, I just let my mouth run again."

Ginny narrowed her eyes at her brother, but said, "Fine, Ronnie, but don't call me 'Gin'!"

Ron turned back to Hermione. "See? I apologized, and she forgave me. Really, I didn't mean what I said, I just—I worry about Ginny, and just want to know she's sure this Harry is the right guy. Please don't make me sleep on the couch . . ."

Now, pins don't really make a lot of noise when they fall to the floor. Many times they lie unnoticed and unlamented, until someone steps on them. But the noise that a pin would make, falling to a linoleum floor, would have been achingly evident in the silence that followed.

Ron's face had, if possible, gone even paler. Hermione's, on the other hand, had gone bright red. Harry's looked as if he'd just heard his sister was sleeping around, which, to be fair, was a good approximation of reality. And Ginny—well, Ginny's face was rising, as she shot out of her chair.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!"

The fury of a Weasley woman, at least, _this_ Weasley woman, was a sight to behold. Harry just sat back in his chair and watched as this previously-unknown side of his fiancee emerged. The look in her eyes, normally so warm and caring, was enough to scare any inner-circle Death Eater that Harry knew of. He briefly wished she'd been able to accompany him on the Horcrux Hunt--she would have been a great asset in the many fights they had gotten into. Her hair, normally so light and shimmery, was practically sparking and glowing in a nimbus, a corona around her head. Her fists were clenched, and she was practically steaming--she had that look of someone who had just taken Pepper-Up potion, and the steam had just started to be generated in the ears and nostrils. Absently, Harry thought that he should probably be frightened of her, but in reality, seeing the passion in her just made him love, and want, her even more.

Harry tuned back into the shouting match--although, it wasn't really a match. Ron was certainly no match for his little sister, and Harry would be hard-pressed to think of anyone who was.

"--your mother! How could you even think you're doing the right thing? And to have the gall, the effrontery to judge my engagement, when you're living in sin with a decent, kind woman like Hermione!"

Ron valiantly tried to interject something, but Ginny cut him off. "No, Ronald, I'm not through! And think of how much pain Dad is going to be in--to think that you ignored his teachings so blatantly. You're going to put him into an early grave!"

Hermione, during all this, just sat, stunned. Her color had subsided somewhat, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she was taking notes, so as to be able to incorporate some of Ginny's techniques into her next discussion with the boy whom she had apparently invited to share her flat. She turned to look at Harry, obviously realizing what this might look like to him. Catching his eye, she mouthed, "No, just wait," and looked rather relieved when he gave her a small smile and nodded.

"--and what about children? You could get her pregnant, and _then_ where would she be? Are you even going to be around in the future to help care for any babies that might come your way? What with you sleeping with her and--"

It appeared as if Ron had finally had enough. Taking his life into his hands, which Harry thought was rather brave, he stood up, put both hands on the table, leaned towards Ginny, and yelled, "We're married!"

oooooooooo

Bidding the newlyweds goodnight, Harry and Ginny decided to go for a walk, before taking Ginny back to her flat. Walking hand-in-hand, they discussed the evening. All in all, they decided, it had been wonderful. Ginny had no worries about Harry's ex-girlfriend, and, in fact, had made plans with her to go shoe-shopping the next week, something that Harry was all too grateful to get out of participating in. Harry had no worries about his ex-girlfriend, whom he now referred to as his sister, being happy. Ron really was perfect for her, he thought. They had a fire-and-ice marriage, with equal parts loud discussion, and passionate making-up.

And they discussed the elopement too. "Can you believe he proposed after only one week of dating her? And that she said 'Yes'?"

"Harry, my dear, isn't that a bit of the Potter calling the cauldron black?" she responded.

Groaning at the pun, he shook his head. "Yeah, I guess I can't get on his case about it, really. After all, he at least did it over dinner at a nice restaurant, rather than in a park full of screaming children and quacking ducks." They walked in silence for a bit. "Are you sad that I didn't make our proposal into a romantic evening event?"

Ginny thought for a bit, and said, "No, not really. I think that what you did was absolutely perfect for us. I am happy that you felt so drawn to me that you wanted to make sure of me right then, and I don't think I would have enjoyed waiting while you, what was it Ron said? Ah yes, 'romanced' me. I think we're perfect the way we are, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

They continued on for a bit longer, discussing weddings, and eloping, and related subjects. Talk came around to planning their own wedding; they decided on an August wedding, which would put it only one and a half months away. They discussed colors, which Harry didn't really care about, and cake flavors, which he cared about deeply. In fact, by the time they got to Ginny's flat, they had everything pretty much decided.

Harry walked her to the door, and put his arms around his fiancee. "I love you, Ginevra Molly Weasley. I can barely wait to be your husband." He kissed her then, sweetly, passionately, and a little bit desparately. She responded instantly, melting into his arms.

Coming up for air a respectable time later, she leaned into his embrace and put her head on his chest. "I love you too, Harry James Potter, more than I ever thought possible. I'm so happy to be yours, and can't wait to be yours in every way possible."

They stood like that for awhile longer, luxuriating in the feelings that were generated every time they touched each other, but then Ginny tensed up and pulled back slightly. "Harry, I almost forgot. The most important, and hardest part of getting married."

Harry looked down at her in confusion. "What do you mean? I thought we'd got everything worked out--although I guess we still have to ask Ron and Hermione if they'll stand up with us."

"Oh Harry, you poor, innocent man. We've barely scratched the surface of wedding preparations, but that's not what I meant."

His confusion manifesting itself plainly on his face, he asked again, "Then what is it?"

And with a rather ominous tone, she answered, "We still have to tell my parents."

oooooooooo

A/N: The line about the Potter calling the cauldron black is a paraphrase from a fanfiction I read somewhere. I apologize to the author for not giving credit, but I, for the life of me, can't remember which one it was.

Now, thanks for reading through 'til the end, I know it was a rather bumpy ride for some of you, and I forgive anyone who had to skip to the end to see whom Harry ended up with.

And, please review--I like hearing what people think about what I've written.

And last, but certainly not least, mega-thanks to my betas, rosiekatriona and sassyfrass_kerr, without whom my writing would be much less readable, and my commas much less well-placed, and my plots much less watertight.


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